Fire, Frost, and Lightning - The Dragon of Winterhold
by Servant of Agape
Summary: Looking to study the mages' craft beyond what the guilds of Cyrodiil could offer him, and to escape the ever tightening grip of the Thalmor, a young Breton seeks out the College of Winterhold. Only later will he uncover a long-lost power tied to the fate of Skyrim and all of Tamriel.


**Before people ask, yes, I am posting this, and no, the next chapter/s for my other stories are not yet finished. Curse my lazy ass all you want. Just curse my muse as well, would you? The muse hates me.**

* * *

_5__th__ of Midyear 195 4E_

Astien noted the crowd that had begun to form. Normally they would be crowding Bruma's braziers but that was hardly the case with the pair of Justiciars in front of him. Damn elves wouldn't leave him alone and now they were at something of a standoff.

"We assure you, we have no reason at all to lie," Astien said. "Please, good sir, we aren't looking for trouble and you are scaring away our customers."

"Confess your crimes and we will leave everything and everyone else of you mortals relatively intact."

Astien shrugged, but he could feel heart hammering in his chest. "Do you have evidence?"

The Justiciar crossed his arms. "We have multiple eyewitness accounts. Deny it all you like, but justice will come to those who defy the White-Gold Concordat."

"You mean whoever refuses to lick your pretty boots, you mean. You won't find those kinds of people in Bruma, I'm afraid. Go look elsewhere and bother someone else."

The corner of the Justiciar's lip twitched slightly. "I would choose my words more carefully, Breton half-breed."

The Breton's eyes narrowed to a glare. "And I would advise the same, Altmer bitch, or you won't find this store so welcoming to you in the near future."

The Justiciar's golden eyes met Astien's grey ones with the derision and arrogance the Breton expected. "We will return with more evidence." His tone reeked of Altmeri contempt.

"Enjoy your day." The sarcasm in the Breton's voice did not go unnoticed in some of the local Nords who chuckled at the Breton's wit.

He sighed as he lost sight of the Justiciars and locked up his strongbox before taking it inside. This was the fifth time in that month that the Justiciars had been harassing him.

The insides of his house were quite simple. White timber along the walls and a granite floor, along with simple wooden furniture adorned the place. A round dinner table was placed at the corner across the door which led to the alchemy laboratory Grantaire where his brother, Grantaire, worked. Astien could hear the faint clinking that indicated that his brother was, indeed, present.

Astien entered the bedroom and opened up his personal chest. A number of robes, now grey and dusty from disuse, were piled on top, but he ignored them. He removed a false panel, on which the robes were stacked, and emptied the contents of his strongbox, his earnings for the day. He did not return the false panel immediately, however, and pulled out a single item.

He clutched the Amulet of Talos in his hands, eyes closed and lips silently moving in prayer. He remained in this position for several minutes, his senses shutting out the world around him. When he finished, he stowed away the amulet, just as the door creaked opened. "Hello, Astien."

Astien replaced the false panel and locked the chest. Straightening himself, he smiled at his brother. "Aleron. You've finally found a day off from the Fighter's Guild."

Aleron shook his head. "Just for tonight. I'm meeting up with a client down in the Imperial City. Those Synod want some muscle to do the heavy lifting for them."

Astien shook his head at the mention of the Synod, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So what is it this time? If it's another one of their plots to portray themselves gilded in the eyes of the Elder Council, you are wasting your time and effort."

"You know we could use the gold. And not all the Synod are kiss-ups to the Emperor, you know."

"Keep telling yourself that," Astien replied with a snort.

* * *

Grantaire placed bowls of stew in front of them as the three of them sat at the table, and Aleron's and Astien's faces fell at the sight.

"Cold stew again, Grantaire?"

"Don't get mad at me, Aleron. I cooked it early, as I always do, and you came when it was cold."

Astien shook his head at the banter. "I could heat it-"

"The last time you did that," Grantaire pointed his spoon at Astien, dripping stew on the table, "you nearly burned down the kitchen. And I'm not trusting either of you with the cooking, no matter what you say."

Astien put his spoon down and stared at his youngest brother. "You didn't complain about my cooking five years ago."

"_I_ couldn't cook then, and _your_ cooking was always burnt," Grantaire said, waving the spoon at him. Astien rolled his eyes and continued eating.

"I'm going to side with Grantaire," Aleron said. There was little smugness to his voice. Only honesty. "Your cooking needs work."

Grantaire then pointed his spoon at Aleron. "_You_ can't cook _either_. In fact, you're worse than Astien."

Astien tried to enjoy the look on Aleron's face while focusing on finishing his stew. Admittedly, Grantaire was the best cook out of the three of them, and none of them would have it any other way. The three of them looked at each other then laughed. Banter was precious in that house, even if it was mildly insulting.

Grantaire sighed and returned to his own food. "What would you two do without my cooking?"

"The answer is not dying," Aleron said, producing another round of laughs. "How is the shop?" he asked, his laughter subsiding.

"The Thalmor are scaring away the customers again," Astien said, his voice subtly laced with venom. "They've taken away one of the Divines, and now they are trying to put us out of business too. Next thing you know, they'll be burning our homes and abducting children." Aleron raised an eyebrow at this.

"They think Astien still worships Talos," Grantaire put simply. Aleron then nodded in understanding, but made no comment. "We did make some profit, though, so we're not at a total loss. Though I'm beginning to wonder why some would need that much garlic, bloodgrass, and nightshade."

Astien only shrugged. "At least we have some gold." He then stood and went to clean his bowl, already finished with the stew. He didn't see them, but he thought he heard the other two whispering to each other, though the words were to faint for him to make out. He ignored them, focusing on removing a piece of stew that seemed stuck to the bowl. Eventually, he gave up, and just wiped away what he could.

"I'm turning in for the night," he said as he made his way to the stairs. The two turned to him, their expressions betraying that for the moment they had forgotten he was there. It seemed he had interrupted some discussion, though Astien was not sure what they spoke about. "Good night."

"Good night," they said in return before Astien made his way up the stairs and the two of them continued whatever conversation they were having.

Once in his room, Astien picked up a book, the cover marked with a flaming hand, and began leafing through it. It was a simple spell tome that he had bought at half-price. He had questioned the discount, but didn't truly mind it then and didn't mind it now. The spell tome had proven to be authentic, and he wasn't going to complain.

While he read, the book in his left hand, his right hand was raised, palm upward and fingers curled in a manner of holding something, bright orange embers fluttered above his palm and flitted between his fingers. An orange glow appeared in his palm slowly grew in intensity and the fluttering embers grew an angry red as red-hot heat began to envelop Astien's hand, though it remained unburnt.

Astien heard the door open. "Careful with that fire," Aleron warned. Astien only nodded, his gaze firmly on the tome. Aleron sat on one of the other empty chairs and stared at him. Silence reigned for many minutes before Astien closed the book, and the flames in his hand sputtered out to nothingness. Astien turned to Aleron, knowing that he had come in for something. "I heard you had a dispute with the Justiciars earlier today."

"What of it?" Astien crossed his arms, leaning back into his chair.

"What of it? Astien, you know what they can do if you're not careful. And insulting the Justiciars to their faces is far from careful."

"I'm well aware of that. You don't need to remind me."

Aleron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then why?"

"You know why."

Their eyes met and another stretch of silence ensued. Astien understood clearly what Aleron was after in this conversation. There was no point to it, really; Aleron could have simply asked. Aleron eventually sighed and looked at the pace between his feet. He shook his head, saying, "You truly are the most unforgiving person I've ever met."

Astien smiled slightly and shrugged. "Why does that matter?"

Aleron shook his head again and stood. "Well, it was good to talk to you. And since you're the elder, I shouldn't be giving advice, but please do try to be nice with the Justiciars. It's bad enough you keep an Amulet of Talos among your personal items. You don't want to give them any more reasons to arrest you." He made his way towards the door.

"As you say, brother," Astien said, though he had no intention of actually following. And from Aleron's face, he knew it too. "What were you and Grantaire whispering about earlier?"

Aleron turned to him again. "He says you've been acting odd lately. You've been going out into the market and returning with some odd items. You're not planning anything rash, are you?"

"Since when does a younger brother talk to his elder about doing anything rash?" Astien asked.

"Since the elder happens to be you," Aleron replied, shaking his head. "I'll be leaving before dawn. Don't do anything stupid."

"I'm far from stupid," Astien replied, standing as well. "Good night, brother." He shut the door and bolted it, before kicking off his boots and laying down in bed.

* * *

Astien made his way to the market the next morning after leaving the shop with Grantaire. Grantaire had asked why he was going out (their stores were still filled enough to last them for a week or so) but Astien had only told him it was preparations. He had refused to specify. Astien was glad that Aleron had left before dawn that morning. It would have been more trouble that it was worth, dealing with him.

While he hated having to deceive his brothers, it was not like the situation allowed otherwise. _It is certainly better that they don't know the whole truth. Honestly, I'd hate to leave them, but I'm tired of Bruma. And leaving the Justiciars behind would be nice._

After having purchased what supplies he came for, he made his way to the edge of town, where a carriage was waiting. The driver looked to be a Nord, judging by his build and face. "Excuse me sir, how much for a carriage to Skyrim?"

"Fifty septims or more, dependin' on where you're dropping off." Definitely a Nord.

"How far do you take your passengers?"

"City of Whiterun is my limit. I'm not familiar with the roads farther than that. Trip that far'll cost you 'bout a hundred septims."

Astien refrained from sighing. He had wanted to get to Windhelm at least, but Whiterun would have to do. "To Whiterun, then. I'd like to hire your carriage for tomorrow night." He tossed a bag of coins to the carriage driver which, from his surprised look, was more than the required payment. "We never had this conversation."

"I'm curious why you would want me to hush up and all that," the driver replied.

"I'll satisfy that curiosity at a later time," Astien replied.

The Nord shrugged. "Mum's the word."

Astien nodded. Having finished with what preparations he could manage, he headed home. When he reached the shop, it seemed that the Thalmor were already back and interrogating his brother this time. Forgetting his earlier thought, Astien then wished that Aleron had actually been there. _Honestly, why can't Aleron just stay home for once? Grantaire's not suited to handle these elves by himself. He's too meek._

"I believe you are looking for me," he called. The trio of elves turned to him.

"Ah, yes, your brother said you were out. It seems he was telling the truth."

"If this is about my worshipping of Talos, again, your source of information is _very_ misleading. You may want to double chec-"

"We are here to give you this final chance to confess your heresy." The Justiciar's eyes stared right into his own. They had that arrogance that all Altmer possessed. But there was something else. Something Astien could not identify so well. He couldn't tell. "Confess your worship of Talos by midnight tonight or there will be consequences."

"An idle threat."

"Is it?" Astien struggled to control himself as the smirks on the elves face only grew. "This is your last chance, Breton. There will not be another."

Refusing to speak – or simply not trusting himself to do so – Astien moved past the elves and entered the house. Judging from the delayed slam of the door, his brother had followed him in.

"You need to leave." Astien ignored him and made his way to his chest and already-half-filled pack. "That was your plan, wasn't it?" Astien only nodded briefly, but the silence that followed was heart-wrenching, brief though it was. "Where are you going?"

"Skyrim," Astien replied, stuffing foodstuffs into the pack. "I won't be more specific than that, but tell the Justiciars if you must. And give Aleron my apologies." He took a bow from where it was displayed on the wall along with a quiver of arrows from the closet. Hopefully, they weren't that brittle and could be used if he ever needed them.

Another stretch of silence ensued. Astien fastened a dagger to his belt and threw the pack over his shoulder before looking at his younger brother. He couldn't tell what was going through Grantaire's mind at the moment, but this must have been hard for him. He placed a hand on Grantaire's shoulder and looked him in the eye. Grantaire looked back and Astien could see the tears starting to form. No words were exchanged, but it seemed as though Grantaire gained some hidden strength from the brief contact and nodded firmly.

"Go, brother. Nine guard you."

* * *

The carriage driver from earlier seemed rather surprised to see him run up to the cart and clamber on board. "Change of plans. We leave now."

"Woah, what's the hurry? Running from elves?"

Astien decided that the last question was meant as a joke. "Just go. I'm in a hurry. I'll pay you what I can for your trouble."

The driver only shrugged and spurred the horse to move. The moments ticked away, but they seemed like hours to Astien. If the Thalmor caught wind of his departure... He tried not to think about that.

They passed the statue to the Saviour of Bruma. Astien looked up at the statue. The Altmer's name was Erothil. The statue depicted him in a set of mage robes (Astien was quite sure that the detailed embroidery was absent in the Hero's actual clothing) with minimal armor, simple steel greaves and bracers, along with a staff. The face was stern, but watchful, as if the statue itself was a guardian over the city, watching for the threats to come. Erothil was the only Altmer that Astien would consciously admit he admired.

The city soon disappeared behind them, with no sign of any pursuers. Astien sighed, thankful.

"So, the elves giving you a hard time?"

Astien cast a withering look to the driver. "Just keep the cart moving."

_I hope Grantaire will be alright on his own. The elves should leave him be now that I'm gone. He knows little of my plans and is of no use to them._

He then leaned back, thinking over his plans. He would be taken to Whiterun first. From there, he would need to find another carriage to bring him to Winterhold. If there was none, he would have to be prepared to find alternate means to get there. Hopefully, the journey would be quick, and he would be able to make it to the College before any pursuers caught up to him.

Astien reached into his pack and pulled out a spell tome, this one marked with a Daedric rune. _I might as well read up. I might need to make an impression, after all._


End file.
